This morning’s post comes
to us from one of my favorite bloggers, Sarah Moon.
Sarah is a Women's Studies
student at Oakland University, an intern at Alternatives for Girls in Detroit,
and a master burger-flipper. She enjoys studying feminist theory and theology,
playing nerdy board games with her fiance Abraham, and blogging at
SarahOverTheMoon.com.

Trigger Warning: domestic abuse, violence

***

God is love. I believe that with my
whole heart.

But what is God? And what is love?

We need to ask ourselves these
questions and think deeply about them before we can even begin to start solving
the problem of abuse in the Christian church.

Growing up, I was taught that God
was the source of all love, and that we could only know love by knowing God (I
no longer believe this because I believe all human beings, theist or atheist,
are capable of great love). As a
straight-A student at a Baptist high school, a member of an award-winning Bible
Quizzing team, and a substitute church pianist, I thought I knew God pretty well.

That’s why he grabbed my arm so
tightly that it left hand-print-shaped bruises after I tried to walk away from
him after a fight. He “loved” me too much to let me walk away.

That’s why he touched me in places
where I had asked over and over again not to be touched. He “loved” me too much
to keep his hands off of my body.

That’s why, when I tried to leave
him, he threatened to kill me and himself. He “loved” me too much to live
without me, or to let me live without him.

I thought it was love, but it was
abuse.

I didn’t see it. Even after he
raped me, gave me bruises, called me every awful word he could think of, nearly
broke my nose, and threatened to kill me, I didn’t see it. It took me two years
to admit that I was indeed abused, and another two years to admit that. no,
this man did not “really love me, deep down.”

Somewhere along the line, I learned
to accept abusive behaviors as truly loving. Part of this was undoubtedly due
to the fact that we live in a culture and society that portrays abusive
behaviors as protective, passionate, and romantic (think Beauty and the Beastor Twilight).

As a society, we’re confused about
love. According to bell hooks, we “cling to a notion of love that…makes abuse
acceptable.” (from All About Love: New
Visions). We don’t know much else because, as a society, we don’t have a
clear definition of love.

Abuse abounds and it calls itself
love. Evil appearing as an angel of light.

What has the church done about
this? When I, as a confused, hurting 16 year old girl turned away from these
poisonous definitions of love that were slowly killing me toward the God who
was supposedly the source of true love,
what did I find?

I found that my church was eager to
attribute horrific acts—from the genocides of the Bible to modern school
shootings—to God and call them “loving.” In its theology, my church had twisted
the meaning of love beyond all recognition because it thought that doing so
would do God justice. I did not find a new, healthy definition of love from
turning to God, because my church’s image of God was born out of the union of
church and a culture of abuse and oppression.

As we talk about abuse in the
church, it is important to treat the symptoms. But we need to go deeper. If our
God were a man, and the church were truly his bride, would He be an abuser? When
we think about the ways that we say God interacts with the world, can we truly
call those love?

It’s hard to think about our images
of God. They’re anchored deep in our theologies, in our hymns and worship
songs, in our prayers and in our children’s coloring books. It’s easy to be
afraid that the second we pull up those roots and examine them, the earth will
fall out under our feet.

But it’s important. In fact, it’s
necessary. If we’re going to talk about abuse, we need to talk about the
opposite of abuse—love. If we cannot decide on a clear definition of love, then
abusers will continue to hide behind it.

And if we, as Christians, are going
to talk about love, we need to talk about God.

Today, I believe that love is the
opposite of abuse. I believe the words of
bell hooks when she says, “love and abuse cannot coexist.” I repeat these words
to myself everyday.

When I embraced a new definition of
love that could not include harm and abuse, and when I started to hold God to
the same standards of love that I now hold all of my romantic partners to, the
God I’d once known faded away.

But new images of God soon came
flooding in.

God is the strength I found to
leave my abuser.

God is that whisper of hope that
sometimes cuts through pain from abuse that persists even after six years.

God is the protest song that fills
my lungs as I continue to march toward freedom.

God is justice, hope, and peace.

God is the opposite of abuse,
because God is love, and love is the opposite of abuse. Images that twist the
meaning of love to paint God as a cruel and hateful abuser do not do God
justice. As a Christian community, we need more images of God that affirm God
as a God of love. We can drive out the darkness of abuse, but only with the
light of love.

This morning’s post comes
to us from one of my favorite bloggers, Sarah Moon.
Sarah is a Women's Studies
student at Oakland University, an intern at Alternatives for Girls in Detroit,
and a master burger-flipper. She enjoys studying feminist theory and theology,
playing nerdy board games with her fiance Abraham, and blogging at
SarahOverTheMoon.com.

Trigger Warning: domestic abuse, violence

***

God is love. I believe that with my
whole heart.

But what is God? And what is love?

We need to ask ourselves these
questions and think deeply about them before we can even begin to start solving
the problem of abuse in the Christian church.

Growing up, I was taught that God
was the source of all love, and that we could only know love by knowing God (I
no longer believe this because I believe all human beings, theist or atheist,
are capable of great love). As a
straight-A student at a Baptist high school, a member of an award-winning Bible
Quizzing team, and a substitute church pianist, I thought I knew God pretty well.

That’s why he grabbed my arm so
tightly that it left hand-print-shaped bruises after I tried to walk away from
him after a fight. He “loved” me too much to let me walk away.

That’s why he touched me in places
where I had asked over and over again not to be touched. He “loved” me too much
to keep his hands off of my body.

That’s why, when I tried to leave
him, he threatened to kill me and himself. He “loved” me too much to live
without me, or to let me live without him.

I thought it was love, but it was
abuse.

I didn’t see it. Even after he
raped me, gave me bruises, called me every awful word he could think of, nearly
broke my nose, and threatened to kill me, I didn’t see it. It took me two years
to admit that I was indeed abused, and another two years to admit that. no,
this man did not “really love me, deep down.”

Somewhere along the line, I learned
to accept abusive behaviors as truly loving. Part of this was undoubtedly due
to the fact that we live in a culture and society that portrays abusive
behaviors as protective, passionate, and romantic (think Beauty and the Beastor Twilight).

As a society, we’re confused about
love. According to bell hooks, we “cling to a notion of love that…makes abuse
acceptable.” (from All About Love: New
Visions). We don’t know much else because, as a society, we don’t have a
clear definition of love.

Abuse abounds and it calls itself
love. Evil appearing as an angel of light.

What has the church done about
this? When I, as a confused, hurting 16 year old girl turned away from these
poisonous definitions of love that were slowly killing me toward the God who
was supposedly the source of true love,
what did I find?

I found that my church was eager to
attribute horrific acts—from the genocides of the Bible to modern school
shootings—to God and call them “loving.” In its theology, my church had twisted
the meaning of love beyond all recognition because it thought that doing so
would do God justice. I did not find a new, healthy definition of love from
turning to God, because my church’s image of God was born out of the union of
church and a culture of abuse and oppression.

As we talk about abuse in the
church, it is important to treat the symptoms. But we need to go deeper. If our
God were a man, and the church were truly his bride, would He be an abuser? When
we think about the ways that we say God interacts with the world, can we truly
call those love?

It’s hard to think about our images
of God. They’re anchored deep in our theologies, in our hymns and worship
songs, in our prayers and in our children’s coloring books. It’s easy to be
afraid that the second we pull up those roots and examine them, the earth will
fall out under our feet.

But it’s important. In fact, it’s
necessary. If we’re going to talk about abuse, we need to talk about the
opposite of abuse—love. If we cannot decide on a clear definition of love, then
abusers will continue to hide behind it.

And if we, as Christians, are going
to talk about love, we need to talk about God.

Today, I believe that love is the
opposite of abuse. I believe the words of
bell hooks when she says, “love and abuse cannot coexist.” I repeat these words
to myself everyday.

When I embraced a new definition of
love that could not include harm and abuse, and when I started to hold God to
the same standards of love that I now hold all of my romantic partners to, the
God I’d once known faded away.

But new images of God soon came
flooding in.

God is the strength I found to
leave my abuser.

God is that whisper of hope that
sometimes cuts through pain from abuse that persists even after six years.

God is the protest song that fills
my lungs as I continue to march toward freedom.

God is justice, hope, and peace.

God is the opposite of abuse,
because God is love, and love is the opposite of abuse. Images that twist the
meaning of love to paint God as a cruel and hateful abuser do not do God
justice. As a Christian community, we need more images of God that affirm God
as a God of love. We can drive out the darkness of abuse, but only with the
light of love.

Proper Treatment for Sexual Abuse: 7 Questions to Consider

Dianna Anderson on Rape Culture and Victim Blaming

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